“What ought we to do?” was asked many times a day during the time Paul was in Washington, and the answer was always the same, “The law must take its course were he ten times Paul Ralston.”
A few there were, as in all communities, who, jealous of Paul’s position or money, or, fancying some slight put upon them when none was intended, were open in their denunciations.
“If he were a poor man you would have no hesitancy as to what you should do. He’d be arrested at once, but because he is a big bug you are disposed to let him go.”
Tom was furious when he heard such remarks. He was ready to swear that Paul could not have been near the place where the shooting occurred, but there was the testimony of Miss Hansford’s lodgers, who saw and spoke with him, and of Elithe, and Tom’s bare word went for nothing. He kept the rumors from the judge and Mrs. Ralston, who were expecting Paul on the 4 o’clock Wednesday boat and would have gone to meet him but for Mrs. Ralston’s indisposition. Two or three times while harnessing the horses Tom decided to tell the judge and ask him to go with him in case there should be trouble. Then he changed his mind, saying, “Maybe they won’t do anything. I’ll not trouble the judge till I see what they mean to do.”
He had not much doubt of their intentions when he saw the crowd waiting for the boat just coming to the wharf, and setting his teeth together he clenched his fists and waited. From the deck Paul had seen the swarm of human beings, greater than when he went away, and called Clarice’s attention to it, wondering why the whole town was out and if some noted personage were expected.
“They expect us,” Clarice said, feeling somewhat gratified by this attention and never guessing why it was paid to them.
Their long crape veils covered her and her mother entirely, and between the two black figures, Paul left the boat among the first and walked across the pier lined with curious spectators, to whom he bowed and smiled in his old familiar way, noticing the expression of their faces and thinking how sorry they were for him and Clarice. She did not see them, but it was impossible that the intense feeling pervading the crowd should not communicate itself to her in some small degree, and she was very nervous by the time the Ralston carriage was reached. Tom Drake was standing there, more alarmed and anxious than he had ever been in his life, as he saw the people pressing around Paul, who was coming towards him with a smile on his face as if glad to be home. Standing close to the carriage steps was Max Allen, the young constable, new to the office, which Paul had helped him get by giving him money for the campaign. He was shaking like a leaf and scarcely able to respond to Paul’s cheery “How are you, Max?”
Now was the supreme moment for which the gaping crowd were waiting and over it there fell a hush of expectancy,—a silence so profound that Paul looked round inquiringly and saw those on the outer edge of the jam elbowing their way nearer to him.
“This is attention with a vengeance,” he thought. “I dare say Clarice will feel gratified when it is over and she has time to realize it, but it must annoy her now.”
It was anything but gratifying to the young lady when she felt her black bombazine dress stepped on behind and herself pulled back with a jerk.